


Collected due South Snippets

by KillClaudio



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillClaudio/pseuds/KillClaudio
Summary: A bunch of snippets and flashfic I wrote on Livejournal around 2007-2008.





	1. Polish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian Kowalski, Gen, for ds_snippets and the prompt 'polish'.

You’re never quite one thing or another. Polish-American. It’s always implied to you some dark hint of duplicity, double-agent status, the constant need to present a façade. Everyone at school thought of you as ‘that Polish kid’, never quite American enough, for all that you were born in this very city. But to your family you were too American, too modern, too ready to relinquish tradition and embrace the country that is your home.

So you ran. That’s what you do when you’re sixteen.

That was a mistake. At work you’re still ‘that Polish guy’, and not much has changed since you were at school. You wanted your son to get away from this, get into some profession where he wouldn’t be judged for his surname. But instead he ended up a cop, and that’s ten times worse, the shit you’ve seen cops pull against other cops who didn’t fit in with the way they thought or acted or came from or were.

Then again, maybe Ray made the right choice, because these days he wears and discards other men’s names as effortlessly as you climb into your overalls. Dobson. Rayne. Vecchio.

But you, you’ll always be the outsider, won’t you? The other, because both sides will always see you as the thing you are not, half-and-half, never entirely whole. You never really belong anywhere, and that’s what breaks your heart, because all you want is someone to open their arms and say ‘welcome home’.


	2. Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser/Kowalski, G, for the prompt 'tape'.

The videotape arrived in the mail about a week after Fraser left. He’d been sent up to Ottawa for training in political correctness or some crap like that, as if Fraser needed lessons in how to be nice to people. Ray had been expecting a letter or something; truth be told, Ray had been obsessively checking his mail every day since Fraser left, and missing him like crazy.

The note inside the package said simply;

_Ray, please play the tape, and everything will become clear. I miss you. Ben._

With a shrug Ray detoured through the kitchen to grab his coffee and then shoved the tape into the player and settled himself on the couch. There was a couple of seconds of blank screen, and then a click and a close-up of Fraser’s hand as he turned the camera on. Ray watched Fraser settle himself on the end of a bed in a slightly dingy hotel room and smiled nervously at the camera. He was wearing too-tight jeans and the horrible, ratty white jumper that should probably have been thrown out years ago. Ray caught his breath and squirmed slightly.

“Hello, Ray. I, er, I hope you’re well. I know I said I would write but I also know how much you dislike the formality of my letters, and so I thought, ah, that this would be a better way to communicate with you. Face-to-face, so to speak. Not that we actually are face to face, but, well.” Fraser coughed and tugged slightly at his clothing. “Anyway, one of my compatriots offered me the use of her video camera, although there was a slight mix-up when it transpired that she wished to film us together, but -- well, that’s not important right now.”

Ray grinned to himself, even though there was a slight sting of jealousy to it. Trust Fraser to be totally oblivious.

“The course is going very well. The people are friendly and charming, and we’re being taught- well, I can’t precisely say that it’s interesting, but I’m sure it is of vital importance that I learn, and really, they’re all being very patient with me.”

If Fraser thought it was boring then it was probably coma-inducing stuff. Ray rolled his eyes.

“I shall still be very glad to get home. I -- I miss you, Ray. My evenings are oddly quiet without you around. And Dief, of course. I miss the way you hum all the time --” Fraser broke off with a half-laugh. “It’s odd, how much easier it is to say these things to you like this, than to voice them in person. And I. I need to apologise for that, Ray. For not saying these things enough. In person. And so I’m trying to say them now. I love you.”

Ray sat up and put his coffee down, leaning closer to the screen.

“Because you put up with what I suppose you could describe as -- well, a certain recklessness on my part. Because you always know what I’m trying to say, even when you don’t understand the words. Because you take an interest in different types of lichen, even though I know it actually bores you.”

Ray laughed quietly. “Naw, Frase,” he said in an undertone, “not when it’s you talking.”

“Because you offered to put up with cold and isolation in order to make me happy. Because you are willing to change for me. And because I have discovered that I don’t want you to."

Ray’s vision was swimming as the tape came to an end.

“I love you, Ray, simply for being utterly, incontrovertibly you.” Fraser smiled into the camera one last time and reached up behind it. A moment later the screen went black.


	3. Something Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser/Kowalski, M, a bit angsty, for the prompt 'something unexpected'.

When Fraser reached up to knock on Ray’s door, he found it unlocked. That was not unusual. The walls in Ray’s building were thin, and he often heard Fraser coming up the stairs and opened the door for him while he put the water on to boil. RCMP issue boots and a deaf half-wolf could make a lot of noise. 

Tonight, though, when Fraser eased through the doorway and shut the door softly behind him, Ray was nowhere to be seen. The living room was largely in darkness. Cautiously, Fraser took a few further steps into the room, alert for an intruder, any sign of trouble; and that was when the smell hit him. Sweat and semen, underscored with the faint but distinctive hint of latex and lubricant. If he strained his ears he could just catch the sound of two voices panting in harsh tandem through the closed bedroom door.

Clearly, he was not welcome tonight. Fraser swallowed hard, willed himself not to be disappointed. He would go back to the Consulate and have a nice, hot cup of tea while he read his book. 

His hand was on the doorknob to leave when Ray let out a long, low moan, clearly audible even across the apartment, and Fraser had to catch his breath. This was what Ray sounded like in bed. He had been torturing himself for months now wondering exactly what kind of noises Ray would make, and here they were. Without realising it, he was already back across the living room and pressed against the wall.

At first there was nothing but more harsh breathing, and Fraser strained to distinguish Ray’s pants from those of his companion. Then came another moan, and Ray’s low tone murmuring something that even Fraser’s acute hearing could not make out. The noises began to get louder and less distinct, and Fraser could hear the bed springs, could smell everything, sweat and deodorant and cologne and the fabric softener in the warm sheets and then he heard Ray cry out—

“Ben!”

Fraser’s heart constricted painfully in his chest, and it took several deep and calming breaths before he could let go of his death-grip on the door-frame. There were thousands of men called Ben living in this city, and tonight Ray had picked one of them up. It wasn’t as though Ray ever called him Ben, anyway. But oh, the sound of his name called out in Ray’s voice, in tones of such ecstasy. Bitter as that was, it would warm his dreams for many months to come.

The bedroom had gone quiet. He had outstayed his welcome. As silently as possible, Fraser crossed the room and slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him.


	4. Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser/Smithbauer, T, for the prompt 'blow'.

The problem was that when Mark lined up the pucks and thumped them one by one into the snowbank, curving them gracefully through the air, it looked so spectacular that everyone wanted to try it. Not all the Inuvik schoolboys had Mark’s natural talent, and pretty soon the icy pond was a death trap as pucks went flying back and forth.

"I really don’t think -" Fraser began in his best authoritarian voice, a voice which was already having an effect on criminals and wrongdoers. But which apparently left fifteen year old boys cold. If anything they got louder, skating in circles and whooping every time one of them managed to hit the bank.

Fraser sighed and turned around, intending to go home and start on his homework, when a quiet thump and a cry of pain made him turn back to the pond. Mark was lying on his back on the ice, stick flung from his hand, a puck just sliding away behind him. Fraser skated over quickly and knelt next to him, eyeing the huge red mark where the puck had hit his forehead. He peered into his friend’s eyes, examining the pupils and testing his autonomic reactions. "Are you alright?"

"What the hell happened?" Mark looked up beyond Fraser’s shoulder to where the boy who had hit the puck was standing, looking both concerned and defensive.

"You couldn’t just duck, Smithbauer?"

"Carson, you miserable _fuck_ …"

"Language." Fraser said reprovingly, reaching out a hand to Mark. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Sure." Mark was as steady on skates as he was on his own feet, perhaps steadier, so Fraser had no qualms about letting him skate gently to the edge of the pond. He made mark sit down while he tested his co-ordination.

"Do you have a headache? Dizziness? Nausea?"

"Of course I have a headache, Ben, someone hit me with a puck." Mark growled. "And what the hell is that noise?"

"You have ringing in your ears?" Fraser moved to examine Mark’s ears, mainly so that he wouldn’t have to look at the bright blue eyes trained on him. He didn’t often get this close to Mark in public. He didn’t trust himself. Or Mark.

"Yeah, and I feel kinda dizzy. Stuff keeps moving about."

"You have a Grade I concussion." Fraser thumped a hand lightly on Mark’s shoulder and got to his feet. "It should pass in a couple of minutes. We just need to get you inside."

"I’m _fine_ ," Mark protested, eyeing the pond speculatively, but most of the other boys were already retrieving the pucks or pulling off their skates. One casualty in an afternoon was more than enough. "Oh, alright then."

Mrs. Smithbauer welcomed them inside with a smile and settled them both on the couch with hot chocolate and the first aid kit. After dabbing somewhat viciously at the cut on Mark’s forehead with antiseptic, she declared that "you’ll have a nasty lump there in the morning" and left them to it. Mark smiled at Fraser, that particular smile that promised mischief and pleasure in equal proportions.

"Alone at last, eh?"

"Yes, well, you still need to rest." Fraser fought the urge to squirm.

"I am resting. Sat down and everything." Mark put his mug carefully down on the coffee table and leaned back as if to demonstrate, spreading his legs and canting his hips in a gesture of total relaxation. Fraser’s mouth went dry at the sight and he had to force his eyes back to Mark’s face. Mark himself had no such qualms, his gaze sweeping possessively over Fraser and lingering just a fraction too long between his legs. Fraser had to wet his lips before he could speak.

"Your mother—"

"Has gone upstairs." Mark finished in a tone that brooked no argument. "Come here."

Fraser went, surrendering to the force of Mark’s gravitational pull. The kiss was light and quick and breathless, as much a tease as Mark’s looks and smiles had been earlier. Fraser pulled him closer, trying to weigh the kiss down with everything he felt, and Mark responded by wrapping an arm around Fraser and anchoring him against his own body. When Fraser eventually pulled back there was a glint in Mark’s eyes.

"See?" he said. "This is relaxing."


	5. Canada Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser/Kowalski, G, written for Canada Day.

Ray was standing in our bedroom doorway, a shy and nervous expression on his face. He looked nearly as exhausted as I felt, his eyes two hollows in the soft light from the lamp. "Hey."

"Hey." I crossed the room towards him, and the nervous look softened into a wry half-smile. 

"Done celebrating?"

"Not by a long shot."

The kiss was warm, sweet and clinging. Ray tasted of toothpaste underlain with Chinese takeout and beer, and I brushed my lips against his over and over. He carded his fingers gently through my hair, twisting the tips to make it stand up, and wrapped the other arm around my waist. I slid both hands into Ray’s back jeans pocket, an adolescent gesture that amuses him no end. 

After a few minutes we pulled back, and Ray pointed to the garish decorations. 

"I wanted to do something to celebrate. For you. Since, you know, you can’t actually celebrate Canada Day in Canada."

"Oh, Ray." I buried my face in his neck. How to explain that after a day at the Consulate I am heartily sick of maple leaves? That coming home to him is a joy and a pleasure, never more so than when his straightforward attitude and pragmatic good humour afford me an escape from a world of diplomacy I was never interested in?

"Thank you, Ray. They’re beautiful."

"Freak." He sounded embarrassed but pleased, and I hooked my fingers back in his pockets and danced him inexpertly over to the sofa. 

"I believe I need to find a way to thank you properly."

"Yeah, you do." We collapsed on the sofa in a tangle of limbs, and he managed to end up on top as usual. I am not fool enough to complain, not with his warm weight anchoring me and his tongue gliding around the edge of my ear. 

"How do you still taste good after spending all day at the Consulate, huh?" he whispered in my ear.

"I’m not sure that I d-, ah, Ray!" He bit my earlobe then laughed in my ear, long and low. 

"Ever think about going back?"

"Not really." It wasn’t a lie. Thoughts of Ray outshone everything else, and I could ignore the occasional eclipse. "I'm happy right here."


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser, Kowalski & Vecchio, Gen. I think the prompt was something like 'epilogue for canon', but at this point I honestly don't even remember writing it.

But that was not the end.

Ray Vecchio discovered that he couldn’t stay married to Stella; he’s beginning to suspect there isn’t a man in the world who can. What he chose instead was to settle back behind his desk at the 2-7 as though he had never left. And these days, he goes home to a cosy two-bedroom apartment and bitches about his day to the only other person who knows what his life looks like from the inside.

Ray Kowalski discovered that he didn’t have to be in love to be happy. All the affection and commitment that he once lavished on a blonde ice-sculpture is now spread out over a vast extended family, Polish and Italian. He found that he actually quite missed having a partner who could fire a gun and would think licking electrical sockets was stupid. And he has someone to cook for him, now.

Benton Fraser discovered something he had always known; he was a man in love. And whatever friendship and affection he felt for his Rays and the 2-7 and the people of Chicago could never quite match his yearning for the place where he belonged. So he called Maggie, packed his bags, and put Diefenbaker through quarantine one last time. And went back, finally, finally, to the place he had left his heart all those years ago, buried deep in the snow. 

Benton Fraser went home.


End file.
